St.Fergus - Part 3

My 'Reward' for Services Rendered

A full 'permanent' Certificate with no expiry date.

The situation on-site had improved dramatically but problems were still evident. The Contractors at St. Fergus were the HAT Group and Steel Preservation (Southampton) and I have to say that the Site Supervision for these Companies was quiet good. With their help my 'grip' on the project increased over time but the 'after hours' activities in Peterhead continued to cause real problems, such as men not coming to work due to injuries (brawling) and alcohol related problems etc. Two 'incidents' which epitomise the 'atmosphere' of the time were as follows:

A Scottish Shotblaster who lived in Southampton caught VD from a local lass. He was a married man and would go home every 6 weeks for a 'long weekend' (this was a standard rotation for everyone). Not knowing he had the 'disease' he gave it to his wife - on returning to site he realised he had a problem and went to the medicos who prescribed the usual penicillin and 6 weeks abstinence. On returning home he would catch it back from his wife again (he didn't have the 'balls' to tell her - if you pardon the pun). This cycle of penicillin and re-infection went on for a few months until after pressure from his workmates he had to confess so she could seek treatment. On returning he was asked what she had said to his 'revelation', the answer had us howling with laughter ! "Is that so you bastard, well then (pointing at her nether regions) this will be waiting for you every time you come home !" We never found out if she carried out her threat.

A Sprayer, also from Southampton with a wife and 3 kids, had become totally besotted with a local 'hooker' and sneaked her into his room in the workers camp (women were forbidden in the camps) and kept her there for over a fortnight. He would barricade the room at night so no one could get in and was sneaking her food from the canteen. If she needed the toilet he would put a hard hat and overalls on her and escort her to the toilet block. Time came for his long weekend and no matter how much his 'mates' pleaded with him he refused to go. Eventually his pals came up with a 'cunning plan' and lured him out on the pretext that one of them wanted to give him money he was owed. They 'jumped' him, bundled him into the car and sped off at high speed. The unfortunate and starving lass was left in the locked room for 4 days until someone heard her screams and banging. Security freed her but the condition of the room was appalling as she did not even have a bucket to use as a 'loo'. The Sprayer on his return was sacked.

There were some great 'characters' about as well. One of them was a Greek Welder who we called Chris due to his long and unpronounceable name. He spoke English with a Peterhead/Greek accent which was hilarious. We heard him once in the changing rooms ranting -"Whaurs ma bricks!" - this we eventually we deduced meant 'wheres my breeks' which finally translated into 'where are my trousers!' He actually made it into a report into the Sun newspaper. He went home on his long weekend (somewhere in England) and was annoyed at people taking up his 'parking space' in front of his house. He painted double yellows lines on the road and was charged by the Police for 'defacing the Highway'. When he went back home on his next leave the Council had been and painted 'official double yellows' so he was promptly charged for illegal parking! Both charges came to Court on the same day and the Magistrate could hardly contain his amusement at the obvious irony of it all. Chris was fined £10.00 on both counts.

Life for me in the Royal Hotel was becoming claustrophobic and, despite all the warnings, one of the Welding Inspectors and I decided to 'explore' one Friday night. The worst 'Pub' in Peterhead (and possibly in Britain at that time) was a Disco Bar called the Grenada, so naturally we had to go 'investigate' ourselves. Holy s##t ! the place was unbelievable - like something out of an old pirate movie or to be more accurate, if you are a Star Wars fan, like the scene where Luke Skywalker and Obi Wan went into a 'space bar' looking for Han Solo, the place being filled with 'dodgy' aliens from all over the Galaxy. I am sure that the Grenada was the inspiration for this part of the movie. As we walked in everybody briefly stopped and gave us appraising stares. Some Texans were throwing knives at the dart board while some 'Hispanic' guys complete with large ear-rings and droopy moustaches fondled scantily clad 'lasses' whilst smashing glasses on the floor between rounds. In a corner 2 Glasgow guys were fighting it out over some woman as the 'bouncers' tried to break it up. What a wonderful place ! I thought, but the Welding Inspector 'bottled it' so after a few drinks we retired to the safety of the Royal Hotel.

The following night (a Saturday) I talked the Welding Inspector into going for a Chinese meal (I was fed up with T bone steaks) - after all what could go wrong there ! The Chinese Restaurant was located over shops one floor up and was fairly modern for the time in that it was large and had an open plan lounge bar/reception area as you came in from the stairway. The lounge was full of local youngsters and fisher 'types'. We were ushered to a table and we gave our order. At the table opposite 2 young Painters with 2 local girls were enacting the oldest story in the World ! I am reminded of a joke I once heard -Q: Why are there no good looking women in Scotland ? A: Because the Vikings stole them all ! - Well the Vikings must have been particularly busy in the North East of Scotland. Another theory had to do with 'selective breeding' as Fishermen required big hefty wives to carry their menfolk out to the Fishing Boats so the men did not get their feet wet ! Thats the one I can believe ! - I digress, back to the 'tale'.

These 'girls' were taking the young Painters for everything they had! The most expensive dishes, champagne and fancy cocktails. When the meal was over the 2 ladies just simply got up and joined their 'crew' in the lounge leaving the lads to pay the bill. They were not happy ! Because I may have represented some sort of 'authority figure' the lads came over to our table to moan about how they had been treated. I was in the middle of my Chop Suey so I could not be bothered with them so I suggested - "If you feel like that go and tell them what you think !" - "Do you think so ?" one asked - "Certainly" I said, (this in hindsight turned out to be very bad advice). The bold lads marched into the lounge and I heard one say - "You are nothing more than a big, fat, f##king cow !" - To our initial amusement the 'lass' in question gave him an impressive punch in the face and down he went. Things then became ugly as all the local guys (about 20 of them) set about the 2 lads in earnest. I looked around and saw some tables with Scaffolders, Welders & Shotblasters at them. The guys all looked at me expectantly, I shrugged and nodded in the direction of the lounge and we all charged through to rescue the hapless pair.

Well !! a 'Wild West' punch up of major proportions commenced, only John Wayne was missing from the scene ! I had one guy pinned against the wall by the throat with one hand about to give him the 'big one' when I felt this pounding on my stomach. To my astonishment this tiny Chinese waiter had wedged himself between me and the other guy and was demonstrating his 'Kung Fu' on my stomach ! - With my free hand I grabbed his hair and asked "what the f##k do you think you are doing ? - " You no cause no tlubble!" he said pointing a finger at me - "F##k off !" I responded and pushed him hard by the side of his head. He could only have weighed about 7 stone and he took off like a rocket wiping out a nearby table set up for a banquet of sixteen. Hordes of Chinese guys appeared out of nowhere, more chaos ! Then the faint but increasing sounds of 'nee naw, nee naw, nee naw' could be heard - the Law was en route. At that a swift exit seemed appropriate ! All the 'site' guys escaped and the Welding Inspector and I made it back to the Royal. He, by the way, had taken no part in the proceedings only to sit transfixed by the scene with his half eaten dinner.

The Welding Inspector never ever went out with me again (something about me being a walking disaster area) and I have never ever, to this day, had another Chinese meal in Peterhead.

St.Fergus - Part 2

The Frigg Field

Initial source of North Sea Gas to St.Fergus Terminal - Photo taken from CDP1 showing QP platform in the foreground, TP1 to the left and obscured at the back TCP1 - to the right is a 'Semi-Sub' drilling vessel. Some way behind and obscured by the mist is DP1.

Below is a map showing Platform locations.

As I stated in the previous Post the situation was fraught indeed at the St.Fergus site. I found my site office bristling with anger at the conduct of the so-called Blast/Paint squad. I entered the office to find an older man sitting at one of the desks, his name was Roy Walls. His son-in-law was a chap called Terry Johnson who owned a Blast/Paint factory in Newcastle and with whom I was to have a dubious adventure a few years later. Roy was a 'old' Geordie in his 60's, and a real character. He was short, stout with no neck and looked like a Bullfrog with a thick, braying Geordie accent. There was no way he was accepting that I was supposed to be a 'Senior' Inspector and initially regarded me as some kind of young upstart. I gave up trying to 'lead' him and just went with the flow, in fact it was Roy who completed my 'education' and took me under his wing. he taught me all the important things an Inspector needs to know, like how to 'fiddle' your timesheets, 'fiddle' your expenses, 'adjust' the inspection reports, and to get Prawn Cocktails, 'T' bone steaks and drink put onto the Hotel account as 'Lunch'. We developed a great friendship and I regarded him a sort of benevolent Uncle.

There was supposed to be another Paint Inspector but he prudently decided to leave after the 'Fred' incident. For the rest of that shift and the next I could do nothing but ponder over the situation as I did not have a clue what to do. The situation in the 'compound' was getting nastier as the excessive drinking was taking its toll among the squad and fights were breaking out amongst themselves. The 3rd day I asked Roy to find me the 'Contract' documents and I started to study them. Coming from the Car Industry I had a fair insight into 'Unions' and Industrial Relations having been a member myself. That night in my hotel room as I was still studying the documents one clause leapt out at me. 'I have them' I thought !

The next morning I summonsed the Site Manager and the (10) Shop Stewards to my office. They (the stewards) were in a belligerent mood and I was, frankly, very nervous - I stood up and tried to look as intimidating as possible.

"Well Gentlemen ! I have looked into your grievances and find that in some instances you may well have a case". They looked at each other and some of them smirked. I turned to their Site Manager - "Am I correct in assuming that none of your Labour on-site has been 'Trade Tested" - "No I thought not !" as the Site Manager shook his head and tried to fade into the background.

"Well now, before I commit myself to any agreements, I will require to Trade Test every man commencing tomorrow !" at this Roy gave every man in the room a copy from the contact with the clause - 'The Client (BGC) or its Representative (Me) reserves the right to examine and interview any Contractor (or Sub-contractor) Personnel. Any persons not meeting the required standards of competence will be denied access to the Works'.

Uproar ensued ! "You cannot be serious !" exclaimed the so-called Senior Steward. "I am and I will start with you first" said I staring him in the eye. I turned to the Site Manager and told him to set up compressors, blast kettles, spray units and all the paints used on site in a empty area of the compound and he scuttled off to do my bidding with Roy following him to ensure all was done correctly. The stunned 'Stewards' left my office probably knowing they were 'screwed' as I could devise Paint Technology questions that the average 'Brush Hand' stood no chance of answering like:

A) What is the difference between a 'Convertible' and 'Non Convertible' coating ?
B) What is a 'Thermit' reaction ?
C) What is meant by the term 'metamerism' ?
D) What is Sa 2.5 ?

The next day and with considerable trepidation I arrived on-site (I hadn't slept all night). Two things were immediately obvious - the compound seemed remarkably quiet and there was no-one drinking. I was greeted by an excited Site Manager who told me only 140 men of the original 300 plus had turned up and all the 'Stewards' had gone. What a result ! I knew that the men who had stayed were probably confident in their skills and actually wanted to work but I still had to go through with the 'Test' so I took them through 5 at a time but rejected none of them. There was a few who were not up to 'scratch' but kept on as labourers. It took 2 days to 'process' them but by dinner time of that 1st day the happy sounds and smells of compressors roaring, blast hoses hissing and spray pumps clattering once again drifted over the St.Fergus site. In the excitement all the workers left forgot to ask me about their grievances and I certainly wasn't going to remind them !

To say I was a 'hero' with BGC was an understatement, 'Old Batty' rushed to my office 'over the moon' and congratulated me but then like the typical Construction Boss he was, growled a warning not to upset the Welders with too much Blast Dust and Paint Fumes. Welders were the effing 'primadonnas' of the Construction Industry and regarded themselves as a 'superior species' and would 'down tools' if anything offended their precious noses, (yes, you've guessed it, I hated Welders as much as they hated us).

Once 'Batty' had left my office I did what any self respecting Paint Inspector would do, leaned back in my chair put my feet on the desk and had a 'jolly good snooze'.

Part 3 next Post.

The Road to St.Fergus - Part 1

The Bathgate job was finished, I did a brief stint at Provan Gas Works in Glasgow on an Insulation Project and we had settled into our 'new' life in Arbroath. It was May 1977 when I received the fateful call from 'Solus' inviting me to the office 'for a chat'. Nothing to my advantage had ever come out of these 'chats' so with trepidation I presented myself there at the appointed time.


"Hello Harry ! nice to see you, how are you doing ?" asked Angus (my boss) smiling broadly.
"Fine" I grunted, instantly on my guard.
"I've been monitoring your progress and we are very pleased !" says Angus lying.
"Oh yeah ! where do you want me to go then?" asks I.
"Hmmm, we are going to increase your salary from £5500 to £7000" he announced.
"Thanks" says I taken aback "where is it then?"
"We've a new van for you !" he pointed at the window.
I looked outside and there was the latest model Ford Escort 1.6 petrol van resplendent in its red, white and blue livery. Up to now I had an old clapped out Mini van.
"Thanks" says I impressed " errr where am I going Angus?" by now very suspicious.
"Your weekly expenses allowance is increased to £160 per week" says Angus waving his hands expansively, "plus an extra £40 inconvenience money".
Now the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, 'incovenience money' was a euphemism for 'danger money'. I was speechless.
"Ohh yes plus " says Angus raising a hand in the air "I understand that BGC (the new name for British Gas) is picking up the hotel bill so you can probably keep the the expenses ".

I was nearly orgasmic at this point, I did a swift mental calculation and worked out that I would be clearing (with overtime) about £500 a week ! This was an unheard of wage in 1977 ! Frankly by now I didn't care where I was going, I would have gone to Beirut or any other war zone for that kind of money.

"Ok cut the crap Angus ! Where am I going ?"

"St Fergus" says Angus flatly "be there Monday morning, report to the Resident Engineer Mr.Batty, collect £200 advance at the desk and good luck!" whereupon I was ushered out of the door.


I went and sat in my new van, my head was in turmoil - St.Fergus - Where the hell is that ?

Ok! at this point, before I proceed, I should explain the background as to what all this was about. St. Fergus is located roughly half way between Peterhead and Fraserburgh and was the most exciting project of its time - the dawn of a new age - The concept was to land gas via sub-sea pipelines from the Frigg Field which was located astride the British and Norwegian sectors. All this gas was to be sent via a platform called MCP-01 which 're-compressed' the gas before it made landfall at St.Fergus. Here the gas was treated and inserted into the National Grid and further compressed by compressor stations such as Kirriemuir and Bathgate ending up in a network all the way to the Isle of Grain in Kent.

St Fergus was surrounded by 3 workers camps with thousands of men in each - in 1977 it was nothing more that a hole in the ground. Neighboring Peterhead was like a frontier town in an old Western Movie, there were workers from all over the World, Texans, Mexicans, Cubans, Scousers, Geordies, Glaswegians, Irishmen and a few more nationalities. Every 'hooker' from the North of England and Central Scotland descended on the place. The locals, mostly of hardy 'Fisher' stock, resented incomers and conflicts were commonplace. The place was 'awash' with money. It was the Yukon, it was the Goldrush - it was HELL ! Welders were earning about £650 a week and running about in Jaguar Cars, Blaster/Sprayers were on about £800 per week on 'piece-work', they didn't have fancy cars because they were too busy 'pissing' it up against the wall and enjoying the favours of the 'Ladies of the Night'.

Some of the St.Fergus Inspection Team, notably the Welding and Paint Inspector were confined to the Royal Hotel for their own safety and advised not to venture out (that's why BGC were paying the bill). At one point the Paint Inspector and Welding Inspector had a Police escort to and from site due to death threats (seriously !!). Unbeknown to me my predecessor, a really nice guy named Fred Stevens, had to be rescued by Security after he was buried up to the neck on St.Fergus beach as the perpetrators watched the tide come in ! This poor man ended up in Sunnyside (an asylum) near Montrose to recover but was a nervous wreck forever - no wonder !

It was into this scenario I (innocent and unaware) arrived in my shiny new van at the St.Fergus security gate. The security man asked me my business.

"Hi, I'm Harry McIntosh the new Paint Inspector reporting to Mr Batty". The security man took a step back and gave a sharp intake of breath. Looking at me as if I was a 'dead man walking' he kindly directed me to the reception. My hackles started to rise - what the f##k was going on here? I arrived at reception.

Nervously I announced myself, "Hello, I'm Harry McIntosh reporting to Mr.Batty, I'm the new Paint Inspector !" The elderly Lady Receptionists face paled and with more sharp intakes of breath she said in broad 'Peterheed' accent "Aye Loon, ye gang richt and strecht aheed, ye'll see his name on the door, go canny noo!" I march onwards completely bemused and arrive at Mr Batty's door. With trepidation I knocked, a voice says "enter" and I go in - I am now scared to utter my standard greeting - I stuttered and got to the Paint Inspector bit when 'Batty' gave a loud groan and proceeded to bang his head off his desk ! Horrified I stood there not knowing what to do - eventually he calmed down and told me the whole sordid tale. The Blast/Paint squad had been on sit down strike for over a week since the 'Fred Incident' - there was over 300 of them ! - They wanted resolution of the 'Quality Control' issues and a whole heap of other stuff.

'Batty' said "Aye well your a big lad (not again !) maybe you can fix it" and directed me to the Painters 'compound'. As I trudged back to my van I made a mental note that when (and if) I met Angus again I was going to give him such a serious kick in the balls !

I drove into the compound in my shiny new van - groups of men were lolling about all over drinking cans of Tennants, Lanliq, Eldorado and Buckfast - I stepped out the van to be met with the inevitable comment - "Ohh, they've sent a big one this time !" - "Holy S##t" I thought.

I entered the Contractors Site Managers Office. He was actually a nice wee man and obviously completely out his depth and at his wits end. After listening to his tale of woe he directed me to my own Site office and I stepped back into the compound. My shiny new van was no longer that, it was covered in mud and graffiti - I could feel the rage build up inside me - thats it ! this is WAR! - these bastards were not getting away with this !

Part 2 next post !

The Road to Arbroath

The job at Bathgate proceeded without incident into 1977. On a personal level I had only blotted my copybook once which was at the New Year Party. Whatever I had done during the festivities resulted in me not being spoken to for nearly a month ! It may have something to do with the fact that my Father-in-Law to be now looked liked a stand-in for Jack Duckworth from Coronation Street. My Father-in -Law (to be) now sported a stylish pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose held neatly together with elastoplast in the centre. I felt that it was incumbent on me to apologise to someone, but as no one was speaking to me I didn't know for what ! Ahh well 'c'est la vie !'

The big moment came on Friday 4th March '77. I was in the office at about 5.pm (we used to work 10 hr days as standard at that time). The phone rang - it was the hospital - Linda had gone into labour ! I asked how long did they reckon she had - a few hours I was told. I did a quick calculation - An hour to finish the shift - an hour to drive to Paisley Maternity - 7.pm, yeah I could make that ! In hindsight I now know what a dumb attitude that was - but, in those days, the priority was not lose 'hours' and therefore money and anyway she would be in the hands of professionals - what could I do ? What an idiot ! But then a lot of guys thought like that in those days.

Anyway - I did make it with an hour to spare and did my 'duty' - well almost ! I became too caught up in the drama and emotion of the scene only to be ejected from the delivery room ! I was left in 'expectant' fathers bit imagining all sorts of doom & gloom scenarios. This guy had a packet of cigarettes which I grabbed and smoked (I didn't even smoke at the time !). Eventually someone came and told me I was the proud father of a baby boy ! My life and way of thinking was to change forever !

It occurred to me that our 'gypsy' lifestyle could not go on and that I had to be nearer the sources of work on the East Coast. If I was to be 'travelling' a lot then Linda should be closer to her family who were in Arbroath. 'Solus' managed to get me a Council house on an incoming worker ticket. What a mistake that turned out to be ! The Big Day came, we were moving - I hired 2 Transit Luton vans and plus we had my 'Solus' Escort van. This 'convoy' set off leaving Linwood (and the West Coast) forever heading for 64 Horologe Hill, Arbroath. I was driving one of the Lutons and all was going well until we started to pass through Auchterarder. The main street was busy and narrow. There was a big 'flatbed' artic lorry parked on the road. I misjudged the the width of my Luton and 'clipped' the edge of it tearing a huge gash in the side and wiping out the cooker and the fridge at the same time. Not in a happy frame of mind we arrive in Arbroath later that afternoon.

Now, I had planned this operation meticulously, I wanted to organise things so that everything was unloaded in order and put in the appropriate rooms. Well, we all know what the Bard said about " the best laid schemes of Mice & Men etc." I opened up the 1st Luton and climbed up to pass stuff down to my 'army' of helpers, I jumped down again and CRUNCH ! - I was rolling across the road in excruciating agony - I had done my knee cartilage in ! Shivering and wimpering in shock I was dragged (with great difficulty) and dumped in a corner of the (as yet uncarpeted) livingroom floor. Someone gave me water and painkillers and I watched helplessly as everything was brought in and dumped willy nilly all over the place. The 'Coup de Grace' was delivered later on by Linda's Auntie Margaret, she had prepared a famous Arbroath delicacy, namely Arbroath Smokies for us all. A plate with one on was shoved under my nose - I was not a fish eater so I did not know how to deal with it so I just took a big bite - ARGHH ! a mouthfull of bones - I hated effing fish bones. So there I was - a fecked van, house in chaos, a fecked knee, fecked cooker and fridge and a 'moothful' of fish bones. For the first time ever (but not the last time) I howled the famous cry "WHAT THE F##K AM I DOING HERE !"

The tale did not end there ! The next day my leg all strapped up, (they had taken me to Arbroath Casualty, for the 1st of many visits to there, the previous night) I managed to climb into the (damaged) Luton and the driver only convoy set off back to Glasgow to return the hired vans. We got as far as Kincardine Bridge when I realised my van needed fuel. I spotted a petrol station and drove in - CRUNCH again - I had gotten the van stuck firmly under the canopy ! What a carry on ! At that point ritual suicide seemed a good option. After a couple of stressful hours the (by now even more fecked) van was extricated. We arrived at the hire place and I parked the Luton with the good side facing the office. "No problems ?" the guy asked "None" I lied and recieved my deposits back. I 'legged' it as fast as my 'gammy' knee would allow.

Why did this crap always happen to me ?

Bathgate Compressor Station

The Pictures below: a Shotblaster in action, a Blast Kettle & a typical view of a section of a Refinery or Gas Terminal. The Photo of the Blaster is a bit 'sanitised', he would normally have a Halogen Spotlight attached to the top of his helmet (making it even heavier) as the area would be filled with dust making it impossible to see !

The week I gained my Qualification was also the last for that Phase of the Kirriemuir Compressor Station construction - but I would be back ! - We packed up (Linda & I) and headed back to our house in Linwood. This was just as well as she was by now heavily pregnant and needed to be booked into Paisley Maternity Hospital. We were only home for a few days and I was asked if I would like to cover a job at Bathgate Compressor Station which was handy as it was 'drivable' from Linwood.

Bathgate was unusual for me in that unlike previously where I was a 'one man band' I was now part of an established QA team headed by an SPI (senior pipeline inspector). All these guys worked for a company called Mapel with whom Solus Schall often had 'joint ventures'. This job was a welcome respite for me as they were a great bunch of guys, I could blend into the backgound and it was educational. The only drawback was I had twinges of jealousy when it came to 'Expenses Day', the Mapel guys had a far better deal than I ! The SPI who I will call DB would go to the bank every week and draw out a huge wad of cash. He would come to our hut at lunchtime and ask "Ok what are you guys needing this week ?" Each man would call out an amount and DB would peel off copious amounts. When finished he would look at the hardly diminished wad and say "That must me mine then !" and casually put in his pocket. This man was a 'hero', not only was he making a fortune he got to 'bonk' one of the receptionists in the stationary cupboard at lunchtimes !

One day DB asked me if I would accompany him as he needed a 'witness' - He was going to look at Radiographs of the last 'Butt Weld' on a section of pipeline. This had huge financial implications for the Contractor if it was not passed, due to the plant etc onsite costing £1000's a day. We go into the Radiography hut and DB peers at the illuminated 'films' (really just a photo in negative) and says "No good ! - what do you think Harry ?" - he wrongly assumed that because I was a Paint Inspector, I knew eff all about welding - he didn't know I had done the course ! - I peered at it as well "hmmm" was the only comment I could muster although frankly I could see nothing wrong with it ! The Contractor Rep announced "A Rolex says its ok !" - "hmmm, I don't know about that" counters DB - "A Gold Rolex says its ok !" says the Rep nodding grimly ! Before I knew what had happened the job was signed off and everybody happy (except me, I got eff all apart from some valuable 'education').

I made a decision to 'distance' myself from the Welding guys and went about my own business. I was walking about the site and it started raining, I noticed this 'old' painter painting some iron railings, I could see he was tradesman as he had a classic collection of immaculate brushes and was very professional.

"Excuse me" says I politely "you'll have to stop painting"
"Why ?" he responds gruffly.
"Cos its raining" I replied holding my hands up to the heavens.
"Who are you then ?" he asks suspiciously
"The Paint Inspector" I replied
"What the eff is that then ?" says he

I explained this to him and he stomped off in a huff to his tea hut. Later that day the Sun came out but the ground was still soaking. The Old Painter was back at his railings. I approached him again.

"What do you want now ?" he growled
"You can't paint, the humidity is too high" I explained
"How do you know that then ?" he asked

I produced my 'Whirling Hygrometer' and showed him how it worked. Muttering under his breath he stomped off again. The next day was sunny and dry so the Old Painter was happily whistling as he worked. I approached cautiously.

"See that section over there ! " I pointed "you'll have to do it again, there's not enough paint on it"
"What !" he exclaimed incredulously "how the eff do you know that !"
I produced my magnetic Dry Film Thickness Meter and demonstrated.
"Well thats it then ! The 'games' fucked" he roared, threw his brushes in the skip and stormed off the site. On later enquiry I learned he never worked again. Another career ended because of me !

The main contractor at Bathgate was Wimpey - the young Wimpey engineer responsible for the painters viewed my results with the Hygrometer with grave suspicion as the painters were more in the tea hut than out of it. He sneakily bought one himself and we both climbed up to the top of a 60" vent stack to compare readings. We both 'whirled' away furiously but could not agree, what was annoying him that his readings were in fact more detrimental than mine. I asked to see his to find out what he was doing wrong and proceeded to 'whirl' it. To my horror the top of it (the bit with the thermometers) flew of into space leaving me with only the handle. We both gaped as it flew through the air in a perfect curve and smashed into a thousand pieces on the concrete below ! Trying to keep a straight face I handed him his handle back. He stormed off furiously all the while casting doubts on my parentage, I heard the word 'sabotage' mentioned as well.

Ah well, that was another Xmas list I wouldn't be on !

The Ball of Kirriemuir - Part 3

NOT A PRETTY SIGHT !

Three significant events occurred prior to the end of 1976 which were to change the course of my life and career forever ! The first was not to come to fruition for nearly 15 years and could only be described as one of life's ironies. I was 'patrolling' the Kirrie Site one day when I bumped into Bob Railton. He told me a 'Decorating' Contractor was on site painting all the lampposts and asked me to keep an 'eye' on them. The company in question was Angus Decs of Arbroath owned by Allan Kennedy, a very astute businessman. He was on-site and was fascinated by the activities of the Industrial Shotblaster Painter companies. I was invited to his offices in Arbroath for 'lunch'. This comprised of copious amounts of Grouse Whisky and when I was well 'pissed' I revealed all the secrets of the trade. It was out of this encounter that Tayblast was born in the mid 80's headed by his son, a then very young Colin Kennedy. This was to be the company I now work for as a Director.

The 2nd event was on a far more emotional level ! It was October 1976 and my mother-in- law to be (Ruby) was up visiting. Now we have all heard the mother-in-law jokes and I won't bore you with them, but suffice it to say she modelled as a 'space-hopper' in her spare time. She was about 5 feet tall and out-weighed me ! I went home for my dinner and I was supping my 'Cock A Leekie' soup when Linda announced she was pregnant by 3 months. "ohh Aye" says I not really taking in the enormity of this statement. I calmly finished lunch jumped into my van and headed back to site. It was only when I arrived at the car park this news hit me like a thunderbolt ! "Holy S#@t" I thought "what are my Mum & Dad going to say !" - At 1st examination that would seem to the on-looker a totally inane and pointless thought. The problem was when I met Linda she was already married ! This was at the time was one of our deepest secrets, and no way we could marry until she divorced (obviously !). This led to avoiding conversations with my parents and family alike who would ask disapprovingly "When are you going to do the right thing then ehh ?". My already tarnished reputation with my relations (and hers) and friends plummeted to new lows - Jack the Ripper was probably more popular than me ! What a #@&#ing mess ! To my eternal discredit I did what any 'honourable' male would do in such a situation - retired to the Pub got blazing drunk and proceeded to pick on the 'hardest man' in the place. This unfortunate turned out to be 'Manny' who I had met on my 1st day in Kirrie - he had become increasingly hostile over the weeks anyway as I was usurping his 'position' so a confrontation was inevitable. The poor soul ended up with every bone in his right hand broken, which destroyed his career as a wood-cutter (lumberjack ?). The only positive thing is that we became firm friends (its a man thing that women don't understand) and he was my loyal disciple for many a year.

The final event ultimately put me at the top of my 'profession' for years to come. The agency I worked for (Solus Schall, at that time a subsidiary of the Rank Xerox organisation) had a policy of awarding an extra £1000 a year on top of your basic salary for every 'Ticket' you gained. Every Inspector (ie Welding Inspection personnel) had to undergo an exam at British ERS (Engineering Research Station), Killingworth, England and awarded an appropriate grade and ID card depending on level of competence and experience. This 'Ticket' was highly sought after as it had at the time Worldwide recognition and was a passport to a lot of money. British Gas decided it was time to bring Paint Inspectors into the scheme and started exams mid 1976. There were 2 grades available ie Painting Inspector & Paint/Painting Inspector. This may seem unintelligible to the layman but meant a 'Painting' Inspector could only monitor and record a job while a 'Paint/Painting could make limited on the spot decisions regarding unclear interpretations of the relevant specifications.

Two Inspectors from other companies had been and gained 'Painting'. Solus sent down 4 men (this included 'Bob' who had 'trained' me) and all failed. My humiliated Boss at Solus (Angus) contacted me with a proposal. As I was the youngest and closest to a school / college exam environment would I go down and take the exam. It would not matter if I failed as my task was to remember as many of the questions as possible so that a training course could be built around them. Failing an exam was not in my vocabulary however, I had never failed an exam in my life ! - Suddenly I got serious, stopped my shenanigans and started training like an Athlete for the Olympics cramming every Paint Technology text I could lay my hands on.

I arrived at Whitley Bay (near Killingworth) with Linda in tow and booked into a Hotel on the night of Dec 8th 1976. I arrived at the exam centre the next day a bag of nerves, there was only one other lad there, Tony Cunningham from the Solus London office (he later went on to do great things and started his own company Transocean in Gt Yarmouth) - The exam was in 2 parts, theory in the morning and practical in the afternoon - The Theory paper was presented and I quickly read it - Oh Joy !! - it was as if someone had taken my old job spec from the Lab at the Chrysler Car Factory and converted it to an exam - What a doddle !! - I finished it in half the allocated time and left the room leaving Tony behind. Because I was so quick they gave me the practical early and I was out of there by lunchtime. I arrived back on-site the next day and hovered nervously around the Office. Bob Railton knew the man (Ron Crisp) in charge at ERS and fed up with my pacing up and down, phoned to get my results. I had passed the Paint/Painting Grade !!! What a party there was in the Og that night !

The financial impact for me was huge ! In the 70's the top earners in Britain tended to be in the Car Industry - A shop floor worker averaged about £85 per week - My finishing salary in 1975 was about £5500 per annum (about £40k in todays terms) - My starting salary with Solus was £2500 plus £120 per week expenses plus paid overtime - relatively not too bad - Because I had achieved 2 grades in one Solus had to increase my rate by £2000 pa (they were not happy !) - I was now better off than in '75 - Later in early 1977 I discovered that ERS had introduced a new Senior Paint Inspector grade which, of course,I wanted. I phoned Ron Crisp and asked him how I would go about getting it. Puzzled he said "But you do have it ! we upgraded you automatically when the grade was introduced - we sent your ticket to Solus !". I was stunned and then filled with rage - the conning bastards ! - I jumped into my van and set up a World Speed Record to Barrhead and stormed into Angus's office - not a pretty sight ! Before I could utter a word Angus went into the top drawer of his desk and flipped my 'Ticket' at me " Oh sorry ! I'd forgotten about that, meant to post it to you !" The 'wind taken out of my sails' I turned about and snarled "I expect my increase to be back dated !" - Yes ! another grand a year.

So there I was ! The 1st ever Senior Paint Man in Britain (I was the only one for years), the highest paid and I was made ! The only problem was that my arrogance and eccentricity increased exponentially as I was aware I could now get a job anywhere in the World and could name my own price. The adage 'Pride comes before a fall' was, however, soon to become painfully true !

The Ball of Kirriemuir - Part 2

KEEPING THE WORKFORCE IN LINE !

My friend and former colleague Tom Cupples, who has an excellent blog himself, left a comment on one of my previous posts asking if I had ever had a job where there was no fighting, animosity or problems - the straight answer to that is NO !

A sweeping answer such as above requires some explanation. I touched on it briefly in my earlier post in that everyone 'hated' the Paint Inspector but it goes further that that when one examines the environment and types of people involved in this Industry.

Shotblasting or Gritblasting is one of the most arduous and possibly dangerous occupations around. A man is required to hold a Blast Hose (known as an Auger Line) for hours on end spewing out Iron Oxide (or Copper Slag) Abrasive 'granules' at a constant 100 pounds per square inch pressure supplied by a Blast Kettle containing up to 1/4 of a ton of grit. This is powered by a large Air Compressor supplying over 400 cubic feet a minute of air. The velocities and pressures are enormous. All the while the 'Blaster' is protected by a heavy and uncomfortable Blast Helmet which is pressurised and is subject to a continuous whistle of air inside. The 'Kettle' can empty in between 30 to 40 minutes and is refilled by a pot man who heaves and empties fresh bags of Grit into it as quickly as possible. In the 70's Grit came in 50 kilo bags but was thankfully reduced to 25 kilos in the 90's. The object of all this was to 'scour' off any rust, millscale or old coatings to bring the steel back to a 'white' condition. Once completed the object being worked on had to be sprayed in with high pressure spray units operating at about 2500 psi using specialised heavy duty Coatings. Added to the above all the spent grit had to be removed. On one occasion I had a squad of men removing over 300 ton of grit by hand. For weeks after this episode we were still exuding 'black stuff' coming from literally every orifice in our bodies.

In short this occupation required a very special, and frankly, hard man indeed. Interestingly enough the kind of guy who came into 'the trade' in the early days were usually ex -military and ex- convicts. The set up and mobilisation exercises to a job were very like the military and they also got to blast the crap out of stuff. To the men in this occupation the adage 'work hard and play hard' could not have been more true. Respect !

Squads I worked with comprised of former SAS, Commandos, Paras and other elite units. At one time in the 80's I reckon we could have retaken the the Falklands by just sending down a Blast / Paint squad as long as they were promised a bonus ! I even had - now wait for it ! - an ex member of the Waffen SS called Armin, as a Foreman. The men were terrified of him and he would take great delight in showing people his SS serial number tattooed under his armpit ! I caused a problem for myself with him when I revealed my own German antecedents. I (stupidly) told him my original name was Harry Wolff (long story !) which was the same surname as a notorious General of the Waffen SS. After that revelation he would speak to me only in German, gave me knowing nods and dodgy salutes and asked when we were invading Poland again !

Yes to be a Paint Inspector you had to be a little bit special and a little bit mad as well to survive. It took a brave man to tell that lot that their work was rejected !

The below are 'rearranged' Hagar the Horrible cartoons popular in the 70's & 80's devised by some wag who thought there was some similarity to myself - I don't see it ! The bottom one does show, however, a reasonable representation of a night in the 'Og' after a hard days work !

Back to the Tale !

I was the only member of the site management team to have the temerity to reside among the 'bears' in Kirrie. All the rest of them were more prudent and lived in outlying areas (mainly Forfar) to keep away from the debauchery, and it was safer ! I came under pressure from my beloved to bring her up, so about a month later I rented a flat in Kirrie (that meant I had 2 houses now - the other in Linwood) and we moved in. That didn't half curtail my activities, which was probably just as well. It didn't take long, however, for Linda to be drawn into the 'social scene' and she made a pal called Pam who she hung out with when I was on a 'bender'. Pam worked behind the Bar at the 'Og' and Bob Railton (the boss) fancied her like hell. Because I was there as a 'bodyguard' Bob timidly came into the Bar one night to try his luck. The Bar was heaving and Pam had no time to talk to him, so like the gentleman he is, he offered to come behind and collect / wash glasses to help out. Three new Glaswegian Welders came in and demanded he serve them. Bob could not pull a pint to save himself so he studiously ignored them much to their chagrin. Eventually one of the Welders grabbed Bobs tie in a rage and proceeded to repeatedly bounce his chin off the bar. This was somewhat amusing at first until I realised that tomorrow was timesheet signing day. With the assistance of some of the other Inspection staff we leaped in to rescue him and the inevitable fracas ensued. Another quiet night in the 'Og'!

Part 3 next Post.